


Vengeance is Mine

by Blaiser, Miss QuantumLeap (Blaiser)



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, M/M, Original Character(s), Psychological Torture, Racism, Racist Language, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Revenge, Sadism, Slavery, Torture, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24717310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blaiser/pseuds/Blaiser, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blaiser/pseuds/Miss%20QuantumLeap
Summary: Hunter Alby is a famous journalist and a rapist. Keisha Jones is a victim looking for revenge.Revenge fiction. Definitely not for everyone. This story is going to get really dark and twisted and will contain rape, so if such things upsets you, you really really really shouldn't read on.I'm not a native English speaker so some wrong wording and grammar errors may occur. Also, I really appreciate feedback so leave me a note (good or bad).
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 12





	1. Hunter

Hunter Alby Jr. had always thought of himself as quite the ultimate alpha male.

According to his own perception of himself he was as intelligent and learned as he was strong-willed and articulate, a hard worker who had very much earned his success and enormous wealth down to the very cent.

Even now in his early forties he was still considered a handsome man by many with a full head of thick, wavy dark-brown hair, an aquiline nose and dark blue eyes that shone bright whenever he flashed his straight, white teeth.

His 5´8 frame which had been slim in his younger years had built up a little gut by eating too many steaks and drinking expensive red wines, a lifestyle that had brought a certain healthy plumpness to his face.

He was highly charming when he needed to be, and a deeply unpleasant man when he didn’t.

Growing up his family who had made their fortune in the oil and gas industry was extremely powerful and had several ties to state senators and other high ranking officials; connections that had paved the way for Hunter’s success in life.

Not one to believe in white, male or rich people privilege though, he refused to acknowledge that his status was only achieved because of his family’s wealth, powerful connections and due to his skin being white.

He looked down upon anyone less rich and famous than he was and had nothing but contempt for the working class whom he considered to be inferior, ignorant puppets that deserved to be used and ruled over by the upper class.

He was far from the top of his year in high school as he was too busy partying, chasing girls and taking drugs to actually care about his schooling, although he did have a passion for the history and English classes where he often got into arguments with the teachers and other lefties about capitalism, the institution of slavery and basic human rights in general.

At the age of sixteen he joined the school’s debate team where he learned the art of rhetoric, and soon became a master manipulator, perfecting wrapping his often rabid opinions into neat little, articulate packages that the average joe could easier swallow.

His strategy was simple but effective: he won over his audience by exploiting people’s fear of the unknown, cherry-picking examples that spoke in favor of his politics and painting bloody and vivid scenarios that often involved all the bad things that would happen if black people, women and homosexuals had the same equal rights as straight, white men.

Appealing mostly to white, conservative middle- and upper class Christians, Hunter gained a small following that way, people who shared his view on life and fear of any other culture but his own.

He started receiving fan letters from his followers and high praise from the local, right-winged newspaper which strengthened his ego and made him feel powerful and gifted.

Finally, Hunter had found his true calling, and it wasn’t long after that he decided to pursue a career in journalism, hoping to one day achieve a platform where he could reach millions of people and not just a few hundred sheep. 

Because his father had made a large, “anonymous” donation to the college chancellor’s political campaign the year before, Hunter, despite his very poor high-school grades, managed to get into a prestigious college in Massachusetts from where he graduated in ´01.

He worked as a freelance journalist for a few years after that, selling newspaper articles to conservative outlets which did fuel his fame but hardly paid enough to cover the food on his plate.

To maintain his extravagant lifestyle that included expensive cars and a lot of partying, he lived off of his family’s wealth until his father decided enough was enough and threatened to cut him off unless he settled down.

As a consequence of his father’s threat, Hunter soon got married to a nice Christian woman who knew her place and bore him a son and a daughter. The partying didn’t stop though and he cheated on his wife often with whichever attractive female was dazzled enough by him to bed him.

In ´05 he was hired as an news anchor and political commentator on a conservative network where his rhetoric and aggressive interviewing style quickly became popular especially amongst the older viewers.

There he made his way up the ranks mostly by kissing executive ass and preaching what he knew the bosses wanted to hear, and a couple of years later when his work paid off and he got his own show on the same network, his goal of making a name for himself and having power over people had finally come true.

Hunter wasn’t exactly his own boss as he still answered to the network board, but as long as he kept his viewers fearing and hating democrats, black people, women and homosexuals and there was no major public outcry over his statements, he basically had free reins to do and say anything he wanted on his show.

Though Hunter was a somewhat respected man within his own circles where he was known for being an idealistic thinker who respected law enforcement and the judicial system, he had several dirty, criminal secrets that had piled up over the years some of which would have landed him in prison if they ever saw the light of day.

He had embezzled money from his family’s trust fund and he was a serial tax-evader, but the most serious crime of them all was that he once raped a girl, Keisha Jones, in his senior year at college.

Keisha, a few years younger than Hunter, was a sophomore medical student and member of an all-black fraternity at the same college.

The first time he met her was at a frat party on campus where she caught his eye immediately. She was tall, intelligent and good-looking with beautiful curves and a nice, bright smile. Hunter, though normally not into black girls, came at her but she refused his advances by telling him she already had a boyfriend and that even if she didn’t, she preferred to stick with her own kind.

Hunter, not used to not getting his way, was furious. How did an inferior creature like that dare to reject _him_? She should be flattered that he even noticed her.

By rejecting him she had bruised his ego, made him feel small, something that he could never forgive her for.

And so Keisha Jones became Hunter’s obsession for several months after the party.

He stalked her online movements, called her late at night from a secret number and hung up until she changed her own number.

It drove him mad to think he was spending all this time, obsessing about her when he should be out there spreading the word and making a name for himself, and yet he couldn’t seem to get her out of his mind. 

As faith would have it, Keisha joined the college debate team where she and Hunter often budded heads.

Politically and spiritually they were like night and day. She, a liberal, feminist activist who fought for equality and reparations for black people was with her articulate skills, quick wit and passion for what she believed in, a strong rival to his previous undisputed role as master debater on the team.

During several of their debates she even won the crowd’s sympathy and left him feeling intellectually in the dust. He began to fear her, and so his hatred of her grew until he could think of nothing else but her.

One afternoon when Hunter’s fraternity was getting ready to host a party that same night, he wrote Keisha an email asking her, if she would come over as he would like to discuss some arrangements that had to be made regarding some future debates.

To his surprise she accepted the invitation, and a few hours later she arrived at the party which had already been going for several hours at that point.

They sat down and chatted in an outdoor lounge area where they were spared from the loud music and drunk partygoers.

Hunter made sure he was at his most charming, evading any kind of political subject that might make Keisha get up and leave. He offered her a beer which she declined at first, telling him she rarely drank, but after a few attempts and a lot of sweet talking, he managed to persuade her into having a single one.

About an hour into their conversation, Keisha got up and went to the bathroom, leaving her beer unattended.

It was the moment Hunter had been waiting for.

Looking around first to make sure that no one saw him, Hunter dug discretely into his pocket and produced some mashed up sleeping pills he had gotten from his mother’s medicine cabinet a few months before.

He poured the powder into Keisha’s beer and swirled it around a little to make sure it was dissolved completely in the fluid. The moment he put down the bottle again, Keisha appeared in the lounge area and Hunter sat back quickly, feigning deep interest in his phone.

As soon as she sat down, he cheered her and she drank the rest of the beer.

They talked for about thirty more minutes before she started to get drowsy (which he thought was strange as he had given her enough of the drug to knock out a small elephant).

It didn’t take but a few minutes after that before Keisha was starting to become incoherent and droopy.

Hunter wrapped an arm around her and helped her up the stairs and into his room where he put her down on his bed on her back. She protested at first but was too intoxicated to put up a fight, let alone get up from the bed again, and soon she was lightly snoring. 

Hunter pinched her ear but got no reaction.

Satisfied that his victim was sound asleep, he pulled down her pants then his own, climbed on top of her and entered her.

The assault couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes before Keisha’s eyes began to flutter open and she looked directly up at him with wide dark-brown eyes.

Beneath him she began to struggle weakly, but Hunter grabbed her by her wrists and held her pinned to the bed as he continued raping her.

“You fucking bitch,” he sneered and slapped her face “don’t you ever fucking cross me again. I’ll show you what happens to fucking niggers who cross me.”

After a few seconds Keisha lost consciousness again.

Hunter finished off and came in the sheets next to her. He laid down beside her and fell asleep, satisfied that he had gotten his revenge and shown the black, uppity liberal her place. 

It was early morning before Keisha began to stir. Hunter awoke by her stumbling out of bed. Pulling on her pants, she looked around the room confused.

She turned and looked at him, still laying in the bed, resting his head on his arm and smiling at her.

“Thank you for last night but I’m not looking for a relationship” He said and gleefully watched as the realization of what had happened hit her.

Keisha burst into tears and approached Hunter who was still smiling provocatively at her.

“You motherfucker! She screamed and slapped his face, but she was still weak from the drugs and the powerless impact only made him laugh out loud at her attempt. “I’m going to the fucking police, you fucking pig!”

“Do that,” he said amused “everyone in this house saw you walk up the stairs with me last night, drunk as a _fucking skunk_ , so who do you think they are going to believe? _Huh_? A respected white man like me…or you know, _you_?”

Keisha took a step towards him. He thought she was about to attack him but instead she lifted her finger pointing it directly at his face.

“This ain’t over” she promised grimly, a low growl was in her voice “this will not be forgotten.”

“It is and it already has.” He said and turned his back to her, pretending to go back to sleep “now get the fuck out of my house.”


	2. The Accuser

He never saw Keisha Jones again around campus, and quickly forgot about her and the incident altogether. 

After a few years of him having his own show on cable, an article from a small left-winged newspaper emerged naming him the potential suspect in a rape that took place almost twenty years before.

Keisha Jones, now a woman in her late thirties, had finally gone to the police and made her accusations against him.

Hunter denied it publicly of course, claiming his accuser was mentally unstable and a stalker who was only targeting him because he was a famous conservative figure.

He sent an army of high profile lawyers after her until she finally gave up the case and drew back her accusations, drained by the same system that was supposed to protect her.

However, the damage to Hunter’s name and reputation was already done, and a few large companies pulled their add-campaigns from his show as a consequence.

This resulted in the network bosses becoming nervous; they ordered Hunter to take some paid leave which he did without too much protest.

Deep down he realized that it was for his own good as people tended to forget what was out of sight for a little while.

The storm needed to blow over, and since he wasn’t about to admit any form of guilt in the matter, Hunter made up an excuse for his absence from his show about how he wanted to go into the wilderness and fish, an activity he had enjoyed much during his childhood but which he hadn’t had time to exercise for years and now was the perfect time to do it.

He announced his plans on the show that same day and kept his cool while being on air.

On the way home from work late evening, he pulled off the freeway and into a gas station parking lot to let out the anger and frustration he had accumulated all day.

Balling his hands into fists, he hit the steering wheel for several minutes until he was exhausted and had to stop.

He promised himself that he would destroy the black bitch that had tried to ruin his life. Hunter wasn’t used to dealing with the consequences of his actions, and in that moment he was more furious than he remembered having ever been in his entire life.

After having cooled down, he called his wife and informed her that he would continue towards their summer home outside Washington DC.

It was a large luxury property at the edge of the woods, gated from the outside world, the nearest neighbor almost a mile away.

He wanted to stay there a few days, isolating himself and come up with a plan on how he could best weather the shit-storm that would undoubtedly hit him at one point or another, and how he could reduce Keisha’s life to ashes.

As he pulled up in front of the gates of his summer home and pushed the gate-opener nothing happened.

The gates remained shut so he pushed the button again. Still nothing.

He had gotten out from the car and walked up to the gate in order to manually type in the digits on the display, when suddenly he saw a massive shadow surpassing his own on the ground in front of him.

Hunter didn’t have time to turn around let alone say anything, before a large, gloved hand covered his mouth and his head was pulled painfully backwards by his hair.

He tried to break loose from the hold but the grip on his face and head was too strong. He tried to scream for help but nothing but muffled sounds escaped through the fingers covering his mouth.

“Stop struggling or I’m gonna have to hurt you” a deep and strangely calm voice whispered in his ear.

Hunter tried to bite the man’s hand but got only a mouthful of leather. In that moment the man let go of his hair.

Hunter was about to make a daring attempt at breaking free from the hold when he felt something cold, and solid pressed lightly against his Adam’s apple.

The feel of a blade was unmistakable.

Instinctively he froze as the man behind him pressed the knife harder against his skin until Hunter felt a small dribble of blood run down his throat.

Panic began to spread through him as he felt the blade travel slowly up his throat before it settled under his chin.

What the fuck was this? A robbery? It didn’t seem like a robbery, not that he ever been in one before but something was just off about the whole situation and the way the attacker behaved altogether. It was almost as if he was enjoying himself, toying with him.

“Are you calm now?” the voice asked patiently.

With the blade still pressed against his throat, Hunter dared not nod his head. Instead he made a sound behind the gloved hand that sounded more like a whimper than an acknowledgement.

“Good boy. I’m gonna remove my hand now. If you scream I’m gonna make you regret it...and believe me you don’t want that.”

Slowly, the man let go of Hunter’s jaw, but kept the blade pressed against his throat.

The sound of footsteps on asphalt sounded through the night. Somebody was approaching.

A few seconds passed in which Hunter’s mind was occupied with whether he should defy the order and scream, whether or not the man would actually kill him as a consequence, then in front of him stepped a tall, fit, dark-skinned woman distracting his thoughts.

On her head was a black ball cap from under which two braids were visible. She wore dark clothes that hugged her athletic figure. 

Hunter didn’t recognize the woman at first, but when she removed the ball cap and the moon revealed her face, the look on his own face turned into one of utter surprise and disbelief.

The woman was his accuser, Keisha Jones.

He hadn’t seen her for some twenty years, but he remembered her features, the glow of her skin, her dark eyes like he had been with her yesterday.

She had become a little more muscular, but other than that she looked exactly the same as he remembered her.

“Hello Hunter” Keisha said and stepped so close he could feel her breath on his face.

Her hand shot out and pinched his side hard.

“You turned a little fat since last we spoke, didn’t you _sweetie_?”

She sucked her teeth and let go of his love handle again. He opened his mouth to speak but for the first time in a very long time he was speechless.

“Nothing to say, _huh_? Well, that is a surprise.”

The woman seemed amused by his confusion. She looked him up and down which made him uncomfortable like she was undressing him with her eyes, judging him.

“What do you want?” he finally asked, careful his tone did not come off as provocative. It was clear that these people – especially the man - was ready to kill him if he didn’t comply with their commands, maybe even if he insulted them.

“Do you want _money_? I’ve got cash in the house. A lot of it. We can go in there together and…”

Keisha interrupted him by raising her hand in the air, signaling for him to be quiet.

Her face had turned grim.

“Jamal...please remove the knife” she said coldly, while staring Hunter straight in the eyes.

As soon as the man named Jamal had removed the knife from his throat, he snaked a hand in Hunter’s hair instead, holding him in place.

A loud smack could be heard as Keisha’s hand connected hard with Hunter’s cheek.

“If you think you can bribe yourself out of this, throw money at it and it all goes away, you got another thing coming, you bastard!”

Her voice lowered and there were rage in her eyes. “I’ve got plans for you; plans your pea-sized bigot brain couldn’t think up even if it tried. And no amount of fucking paper is going to change that!”

There was the low rumble of a motor in the distance which made all three of them perk their ears.

“ **PLEASE, HELP!!!** ” Hunter screamed at the top of his lungs “ **I’M BEING ROBBED!!! HELP!!!** ”

“Keish...we have to get off the road soon” Jamal said and put his arm around Hunter’s neck, holding him in a tight headlock and choking him just enough to quiet him.

Hunter watched in horror as Keisha from her jacket pocket produced a small syringe filled with a clear liquid.

He began struggling in Jamal’s grip, but there was never any real chance of getting out from under it; the man was simply too big and strong and Hunter too out of shape to ever even come close to breaking the hold.

Keisha put the syringe between her fingers, pulled off the protective cap and let a few drops of the liquid drip from the needle.

“Stand still or I might miss your artery and I don’t want to make a mess.” she said as she grabbed Hunter by the back of his neck, steadying him.

A moment after he felt a painful pinch in the side of his throat, and after that there was only darkness.


	3. The Passage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter also contains rape. Be warned.

When he opened his eyes all he saw was a white ceiling that seemed to rock lazily back and forth.

It was as if the whole world was moving, that he himself was moving as well but only slightly like a baby in a slow rocking crib.

Then he heard the sounds of waves crashing against something not far from him and realized he was at sea.

Hunter lifted his head groggily and looked around.

He was on his back laying on a sofa that made up a three sided furniture arrangement with a table in the middle.

He was cuffed by his wrists to a pipe that ran from the ceiling to the floor behind the sofa.

The cabin itself was medium sized not unlike the one on his own yacht and when he looked out the open door of the cabin, he could see the silhouettes of three people in the dark cockpit around twenty feet away from where he was situated.

The cuffs’ chain gave him about a foots worth of reach, just enough for him to touch his own face but not much more than that.

Trying to minimize the noise, he tried pulling discretely on the cuffs but they were too tight around his wrists and he obviously wasn’t getting out of them anytime soon.

His mouth and throat were dry as if he had eaten a bucket of sand.

“Water...” he croaked towards the cockpit “…I need water…”.

The people in the cockpit turned their heads for a second but remained where they were. Hunter tried again.

“…water…”

Several minutes went by in silence where the three figures seemed to ignore his pleas and just stood staring out at the dark ocean.

Hunter raised his voice “I said: I need some fucking water! NOW!”

A few seconds went by, then Keisha emerged from the cockpit. In her hand was a bottle of water.

Hunter’s eyes followed her as she slipped into the sofa arrangement across from him and put the bottle on the table between them.

She looked him straight in the eyes.

“Say please.”

Hunter’s eyes filled with hate.

He looked from the bottle back to Keisha who had leaned back and was studying him with an indifferent look on her face.

“Suit yourself.”

She grabbed the bottle and got up.

“You ain´t getting nothing then.”

Realizing she was about to leave, Hunter decided to swallow his pride. He was so thirsty it was becoming unbearable. His head hurt and he felt very dehydrated.

“Please.” he mumbled “I need it.”

Keisha turned and gave him the bottle and sat down again across from him and watched as he greedily drank the whole thing. When he was done, he put the bottle down on the table and looked at her.

“What is this?” He said, trying to sound calmer than he was. Inside he was seething. “Where are you people taking me?” 

“Now that is a secret I cannot tell you.” She gave him a strange looking smile which didn’t seem like a smile at all. “Just know that everything will be easier if you just do as you are told.”

“This is a fucking abduction!” he blurted out “you are _abducting_ me! You could go to jail for the rest of your life for this.”

“I could…but I don’t think that I will. In order to be prosecuted, you have to get caught first which I’m sure you know all about. And I ain’t planning on getting caught.”

A muscular, dark-skinned man around 6’4 with short dreadlocks entered the cabin then. He was wearing the same kind of dark uniform looking clothes that Keisha was.

He closed the door to the cockpit behind him and leaned up against it, staring at Hunter, not saying a word. Perhaps this was the same man who had held the knife to his throat earlier? Hunter couldn't tell for sure; all he knew was that his presence and especially _his_ _eyes_ made him nervous. 

Trying hard to suppress his growing anxiety of the new arrival, Hunter looked from the man to Keisha.

“What is it that you want exactly?” he said, trying to keep the quiver in his voice to a minimum. “If it is not money, then what?”

“Revenge.” Keisha said quickly. “I want revenge.”

Hunter’s heart dropped.

“For what?” He lied, knowing full well what she meant “I don’t understand…”

“You know damn well for what.”

“I’m sorry but I don’t.”

“What you fucking did to me, you piece of shit!”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but you and I both know that what you accused me off never happened.”

Turning his attention back to the man at the door, Hunter put on the most innocent face he could muster.

“I don’t know what she told you. I have the court’s word for I’m innocent. She and I slept together once in college which she apparently regretted, and now she is accusing me of fucking rape! She is clearly unstable! If you let me go now, I will pay you handsomely and I _will not_ go to the police. Just put me ashore and we’ll pretend this never happened. I have no interest in going after a sick woman, in fact I feel sorry for her.”

He looked at Keisha again. Her dark eyes that seemed almost black in the muted lights were shooting lightning bolts.

“I’m very sorry, Keisha…but you need help.”

As soon as he mentioned her name, he could see her expression changing from dark to grim.

“Kwame…” she said with an iciness in her voice, addressing the man at the door but never taking her eyes off Hunter “...I changed my mind. If you are up for it, let’s do this now. This one needs a lesson in humility.”

“Sure.” The man acknowledged. “Do you wanna watch or should I take him down below?”

“No, do it right here. I want to see his face when it goes in.”

They were both staring at him, but talking about him in third person like he wasn't even there.

Hunter felt a sudden rush of panic.

“What are you going to do?” He asked frantically but Keisha and Kwame both ignored his question.

Kwame walked up to Hunter, grabbed his wrists and started freeing them from the cuffs by using a key he had pulled from his pocket.

When done, the large man grabbed Hunter by his tie and pulled him roughly onto his feet.

The sudden movement made Hunter dizzy and he would have fallen backwards if it hadn’t been for Kwame steadying him with a hand on his shoulder.

They two men now stood facing each other, though Hunter had to tilt his head in order to look up into Kwame’s eyes which were pitch black and unreadable.

With one hand still holding Hunter by his tie, Kwame started to unbuckle Hunter’s belt with his other hand.

“What ARE you doing!?”

Instinctively Hunter tried to swat the hand away which earned him a punch to the gut, making him loose all air in his lungs.

He bent forward letting out a breathless sound.

“Don’t move” Kwame sneered annoyed and continued unbuckling Hunter’s belt, then opened his pants.

Still winded from the gut punch, Hunter was defenseless. He looked desperately from Keisha to Kwame, searching for any sign of sympathy or a way out but found none.

When Kwame spun Hunter around and bend him over the table, holding him in place with a hand on his neck that’s when full blown panic hit him like a hammer to the head.

“My god! Please don’t do this!” Hunter screamed and started fighting wildly “I’m sorry! Whatever it is you think I did, I didn’t! Please don’t do this!”

His eyes were wild, his voice desperate. He looked at Keisha who sat calmly only a few feet away, studying him with a strangely smug look on her face. There was no question that she was enjoying his struggle.

Calmly as if he was handling a toddler having a tantrum and not a grown man fighting to break loose, Kwame pulled down Hunter’s pants and boxers exposing his rear to the cool cabin air.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please make him stop!” Hunter repeated desperately, looking to Keisha who had now put her feet up on the table next to his face, getting comfortable as if she was about to catch her favorite show on TV.

The sound of rattling metal filled Hunter's ears. Behind him Kwame was loosening his belt.

“Let’s see if you are a virgin or not. I bet not. I bet you’ve bent over for your bosses plenty of times, whoring your ass.” Kwame said, and kicked Hunter’s legs apart violently.

More scared than he’d ever been in his life, Hunter started sobbing, his face turning pink from strain.

A hand grabbed his hip and something hard pushed against his opening.

“NO!” Hunter screamed and tried to climb on top of the table to get away from Kwame’s cock, which made Kwame tighten the grip on his neck till it felt as though he was going to snap it in two. Kwame spit into his hand and coated his cock with the saliva, then he pushed against Hunter again.

“Shit! He’s too tight.” Kwame exclaimed after the third failed try. “I can’t even get the fucking head in.”

“I thought he might be” Keisha said and dove into her jacket pocket, pulling out a small jar of a thick clear substance.

Holding it a few inches in front of Hunter’s face, she leaned close to him.

“You don’t deserve this you little rapist bitch, but I’m going to be merciful since this is your first time. Don’t ever say I didn’t give you nothing.”

She opened the jar’s lid and handed the jar over to Kwame.

“Keisha…please!” Hunter begged, his eyes huge and wet. “Don’t do this!”

He felt Kwame’s fingers applying the cold substance to his asshole, then came another push that made him scream in pain as Kwame managed to break through the tight ring of muscle.

“Keep her name out of your fucking mouth!” Kwame sneered and pulled Hunter’s hair hard with his free hand. “In fact stop talking. I don’t wanna hear anymore of it from you. No more talk.”

There was a moment of pause where Kwame didn’t move and just let Hunter squirm and fight against the invasion. Then without warning he shoved his entire length deep into Hunter’s bowels.

Hunter’s eyes bulged. All air was pushed from his lungs and he let out a breathless gasp then an otherworldly cry. It was the most painful thing he had ever experienced by far. It felt as though he was being ripped apart.

His body convulsed and he went into full flight mode, desperately clawing at the table to try and get up and get away from Kwame who was still holding him pinned down using hardly any effort at all.

Shortly after when Kwame started to fuck him it was brutal and hard.

Hunter begged and cried with each thrust but his pleas were not heard.

“Fuck him, baby” Keisha sneered with hatred in her eyes “fuck this little racist bitch raw. Hurt him good.”

What felt to Hunter like hours was probably no more than ten minutes.

Kwame came with a roar and emptied himself inside Hunter who in the meantime had gone limp from exhaustion.

He was shaking and crying uncontrollably, his white shirt wet with sweat, his gut felt like it had been shredded to pieces.

He felt Kwame pulling out then his pants being pulled back up over his ass.

The hand on his neck let go and instead grabbed him by his tie like it was a leash, pulling him back on his feet.

He swayed, his whole body aching, his asshole felt like it had been set on fire.

Hunter was about to collapse when Kwame caught his limp body and dragged him over to the sofa where he was cuffed again to the pipe.

Kwame sat down next to Keisha on the sofa and put his arm around her.

“Was it any good?” She smiled wide and gave Kwame a kiss on the lips.

“Best piece of ass I had in a while, warm and damn tight.” He said and stared over at Hunter who was still shaking and trying to come to terms with what had just happened to him.

“Say the word and I’ll go another round.”

“Well…I just might do that.” Keisha leaned into Kwame’s embrace “thanks for doing this for me, baby. It means a lot.”

“Anytime.”

Hunter turned to face the wall. He closed his eyes and tried his best to block out their voices. 


	4. End of Conversation

Hunter had curled up into a fetal position and laid like that for hours in silence. Deeply traumatized he could not find rest nor could he stand to look at his abductors, so he faced the wall and stared into its white surface instead.

He could feel Kwame’s semen mixed with something warm he could only imagine was blood, dripping out of him and down his thighs. Perhaps he had pissed himself also. He couldn’t tell as his abused lower body felt like it had been ripped apart by a hoard of feral dogs.

Kwame had thankfully left the cabin and gone back into the cockpit and closed the door, leaving Hunter alone with Keisha who sat on the sofa reading a Richard Wright novel, relaxing as though she had just witnessed something boringly normal and not a man’s dignity being taken away from him one thrust at a time.

At one point she sighed and put down the book. Although he could not see her, Hunter knew that she was watching him.

“Hunter.” She said and waited for him to answer. When he didn’t, she kicked him hard in the small of his back, sending a jolt of pain through his body.

He whimpered and turned his head so he could look at her.

“When I call your name, you better answer me. Is that understood?”

His eyes filled with tears and hatred but he dared not say anything. Instead he nodded his head reluctantly.

Keisha and her people had turned out to be highly unpredictable and violent, and if there was ever a way for Hunter to get out of this nightmarish situation alive, his best bet was to comply with her commands.

“I said: _answer me_.” She sneered and pulled her knee up, getting ready to kick him again.

“Please don’t…” he begged, his voice weak and pathetic to his own ears “…I’ll do as you say.”

Relieved, he watched her put her leg down again.

“Turn all the way around and look at me.”

Slowly, with every nerve-ending in his abdomen set aflame, Hunter did as instructed. He met her gaze and waited for her to speak first.

“Now you know what it feels like, don’t you? To be violated. To get fucked against your will.” Keisha’s voice was calm but with a faint whiff of anger. "Not so fucking funny, is it?"

“I’m sorry!” Hunter blurted out as tears started running down his face “I’m so fucking sorry. Please just let me go. Haven’t you done enough?”

“Not sorry enough.” She snorted her dismissal “but you soon will be, I can promise you that much. _This is nothing_ compared to what we're going to do to your punk ass _._ We're gonna make you regret you were ever born.”

She moved closer to him and searched his wide blue eyes. Fear flickered in them which seemed to bring her great satisfaction. Keisha Jones was obviously not only a vengeful and dangerous woman, she was a sadist as well. 

As though the conversation was over, she leaned back with a contended sigh and picked up her book again.

“Please! I don’t know what it is you want from me!?! _Please_ , Keisha! You are better than this, I know you are!”

“Be quiet, boy.” She said and kept on reading.

But Hunter wouldn’t. He simply couldn’t. He was too scared and frustrated to obey. Despair had grabbed ahold of him.

“I’ll give you whatever you want, just let me go!”

With a loud smack, Keisha slammed the book together.

“What I _want_ is for you to be quiet. What I _want_ is not something you can give me, but something I have to take from you myself. You’re no longer in any position to _give_ anything, and the sooner you realize that the better.”

She swatted him across the forehead with the book, leaving him speechless, stunned.

And that was the end of the conversation.


	5. Lesson Learned

The first sunbeam broke through the morning clouds, travelled through the cockpit window and the open door to the cabin and shone its light on Hunter’s face.

He had spent the last couple of hours trying to fall asleep which he couldn’t as his mind was in a state of total disarray, his thoughts stressed by not only the trauma he had suffered by the hands of Kwame but also the uncertainty of his future.

Keisha’s words spoken that same night haunted him still:

_What I want is not something you can give me, but something I have to take from you myself._

What had she meant by that? Was it just her cryptic way of spooking him? Toying with him?

He had offered her money and she had declined. He had offered her everything else he owned and she had declined.

She said she wanted revenge, and her associate had raped and abused him and still it didn’t seem to be quite enough for her.

Weren’t they - in some kind of sick way - _even_ now? 

What, Hunter speculated, was it that Keisha _really_ wanted from him? Everybody wanted something, usually money, sex or power or all three combined, but that didn’t seem to the case with her.

Instead she seemed hell-bent on teaching him some kind of lesson…but what lesson was that?

That she was the one in charge?

He turned his head to look at her. She was very close to him now, maybe less than a foot. 

Keisha was sitting up with her eyes closed, asleep or just resting he could not tell for sure.

His eyes travelled down her body to her left thigh where a small hunting knife was strapped.

If he could just inch a little closer to Keisha, he might be able to reach it.

Hunter didn’t exactly have a thought out plan but being an opportunist, he just couldn’t let a chance like that pass him by. Besides who knew if he would ever get another one?

Careful to keep the chain’s rattle to a minimum, Hunter turned his body, got up into a sitting position and scooted a little closer to Keisha. While studying her face, looking for any sign that his abductor was about to stir, Hunter held his breath and reached out for the knife.

His fingers touched the handle and found the button that secured the knife to the holster.

As he was getting ready to unbutton it, Keisha’s eyes sprung wide open and she was staring down into his.

Hunter panicked and went for the knife, trying to get it out of the holster but due to his limited reach he couldn't. He fumbled at the button just a second too long, missing his chance. 

Keisha moved slightly out of Hunter’s reach, grabbed one of his hands and started twisting it painfully downwards towards his wrist.

Hunter let out a howl of pain as Keisha applied more and more pressure to his wrist. With his free hand he clawed at her hands, but his reach was too limited and her hold on him too strong.

His wrist throbbed and felt as though it was about to snap at any second.

“Please don’t!” he begged.

“Still think I’m an easy victim, huh?” Keisha was high on the power she held over him, smiling down at him “boy, you really don’t know shit, do you?!”

The boat slowed down then came to a complete stop.

Kwame came rushing through the cabin door, went straight for Hunter, grabbed him by the back of his neck and slammed his head violently down on the table between him and Keisha.

“What did he do to you?” Kwame asked concerned “did he hurt you?”

“He went for the knife” she said calmly “but I was expecting that. I just wanted to see what he would do. I got this under control…you can let go.”

Hesitantly Kwame let go off Hunter’s neck and stepped back a pace.

“We’re almost there” Kwame said “less than half an hour.”

“Perfect.” Still holding his hand in a lock, Keisha put her face down close to Hunter’s.

“You are as predictable as you are stupid, and for that alone I should break this.” She kept applying pressure to his wrist, making him writhe in pain. “Tell me why I shouldn’t.”

“…I’m so sorry…just, please…”

“That ain’t no reason.”

Exhausted and in great pain, Hunter managed to turn his face upwards and look at Keisha.

“I made a mistake…please…don’t hurt me...I…I…”

She gave him a stern look. “What?”

“I won’t do it again…please…”

“That is the worst excuse I’ve ever heard. You won’t do it again, huh? I don’t believe that for a second.”

The pressure on his wrist was becoming unbearable. Hunter squirmed and cried out.

Just as it felt to Hunter was though his wrist was going to snap in two, Keisha let go of him.

“Be thankful you are no good to me with broken bones.”

She leaned down so that she was no more than a few inches from his face. “Defy me again and I won’t show you any mercy. Perhaps I’ll give you to Kwame; he’ll have some fun with you. Then again, I might just do that anyway.”

Hunter turned his head and looked at the man behind him.

Kwame was staring him down in that same hair-raising way he had done when they first met. It made Hunter’s skin break out in goosebumps.

He turned his attention back to Keisha, begging her with his eyes. “Please don’t. I’ll do as you say.”

“Good.” Keisha reached out and petted his hair strangely gentle. Hunter flinched but allowed the awkward touch. At this point he dared not do anything to upset her. “Remember that or you are going to experience what true hell feels like.”

She got up from the sofa, and turned to Kwame.

“Bring him up on the deck. Let’s show him his new home.”


	6. Home I

Keisha had left the cabin for the cockpit when Kwame un-cuffed Hunter, grabbed ahold of his collar and pulled him roughly onto his feet.

His whole body aching, Hunter stood for a few seconds swaying back and forth, trying to gain his balance before he sank to the floor in front of Kwame, clutching the hand that Keisha had so brutally abused a few minutes before.

“Get. Up.” Kwame said in an annoyed voice and sharply prodded Hunter’s thigh with his boot.

Hunter looked up at his attacker with a curse and defiance in his eyes; a gesture he regretted immediately when the large man flashed his teeth in response, sending a chill down Hunter’s spine.

“Oh, are you going to give me attitude now? Huh, _boy_?”

Reaching down, he grabbed a handful of Hunter’s hair and pulled him forcefully into a standing position.

“When I tell you to do something you better do it...got that?”

When Hunter didn’t respond right away, Kwame tightened the grip in his hair, making him let out a loud involuntary whimper.

“Yes!” Hunter blurted out, certain that Kwame was about to pull out a major chunk of his hair, halfway scalping him.

As if he was indecisive about whether he was satisfied with the answer or not, Kwame stared his prisoner down for a few seconds before he loosened his grip, then spun him around and gave him a shove in the back, driving him towards the cockpit.

***

“… _Jaws this is Homestead. Come in Jaws_.”

As the two men entered the cockpit, a women’s voice boomed from the radio.

The rudder was manned by a mocha-skinned man with short hair about the same size, stature and age as Kwame. 

The man shot Hunter a glance then grabbed the radio’s microphone and answered the call.

“This is Jaws. We’re ten minutes out.”

Hunter recognized the voice as that of Jamal’s, the man who had aided Keisha in his abduction the night before.

So there was at least three of them involved…but could there be more? Who was that woman on the radio? And _who or what_ was Homestead?

It made somewhat sense that Kwame - the boyfriend or whatever he was - had gone along with Keisha’s insane plan as he was clearly as big a sociopath as she was, but how on earth had she convinced a second or perhaps even a third person to aid her in her crime, especially since there was no apparent financial motive behind it?

Hunter still couldn’t wrap his mind around that. In his experience everybody wanted money.

Everyone rational that was.

Perhaps these people were a rare breed of religious fanatics or idealists of some kind?

Jamal was also wearing the same kind of uniform as Keisha and Kwame: black combat boots, black t-shirt and cargo-pants. 

Were these people all part of some crazy underground movement or cult, and if so what was it they wanted from him? 

Hunter’s eyes darted over the console in front of Jamal and found the GPS. The latitude, 3642 N, was all he had time to register before Kwame led him out the cockpit’s right side door.

***

Outside the sky was cloudless, the wind calm and warm.

Hunter stumbled onto the deck, driven forward by Kwame who had his hand in his back.

He was led up to the railing and stopped there.

Hunter looked around, taking in the landscape.

They were not at sea as he had initially thought (at least not any more) but on a river with dense, deciduous forest on either side of it.

Given the rural surroundings and the first part of the coordinates he had gotten from the GPS he figured they were still somewhere in the US but of _where exactly_ there seemed to be no indication.

The only sign he noticed was a huge yellow one with black letters that read “ _Private property. Trespassers will be shot”_ on one of the otherwise deserted riverbanks.

_His new home…_

Keisha’s words echoed through his mind.

What had she meant by that?

Were they going to kill him here in where-the-fuck, perhaps dump his body in the river?

Why would they even bother to take him all the way out here to do that when they could have just killed him hours ago?

He heard the sound of footsteps on the deck and knew that Keisha was approaching.

Kwame kicked Hunter hard in the back of one knee, making him fall to his knees.

He tried getting back up but the man put a hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place.

“Stay.”

Keisha appeared before Hunter then, towering above his kneeling form.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” she said and looked down into his eyes, “like I said once before, the more you fight, the worse this is going to get so do yourself a favor and don’t do that.”

“Are you going to kill me?” He swallowed, trying to keep the quiver in his voice to a minimum.

He was anxious of whatever answer she was about to give but he needed to hear it. Not knowing his own fate seemed worse somehow.

“I might,” she said thoughtfully and looked past him and out over the water “haven’t decided on that part yet.”

Hunter swallowed and bowed his head. At least her undecided answer had been better than a clear conformation that they were going to murder him, although not by much.

With two fingers under his chin, Keisha tilted his head upwards, forcing his eyes to met hers once again.

“Right now you do amuse me so killing you would be a damn shame, but know this: _if I do_ choose to end you, I’m not just going to shoot you in the head or cut your throat…I’m going to take my time and I am going to make it hurt.”

She eyeballed him as she said it, a clear warning he should heed, then removed her fingers from under his chin and walked away, positioning herself somewhere behind him.

At a fork in the river, the yacht took a right turn into narrower waters.

For a second Hunter contemplated getting up and throwing himself overboard.

During his youth he had been an excellent swimmer and he assessed he would be able to reach the bank within a few minutes if he could only make it into the water.

The problem was of course that Kwame who was still standing right behind him, breathing down his neck - would undoubtedly be faster than him given he was probably around a decade younger and clearly bigger and stronger, leaving Hunter chanceless in making it further than the railing.

Hunter would be tackled, dragged back and forced to face the consequences for his disobedience which would undoubtedly be harsh.

Deciding it was better to wait for a more opportune moment than the one he was currently in, Hunter let his eyes glide across the riverbanks instead, searching further for any kind of indication of his location but found none.

A few minutes later, a small, wooden jetty appeared on the starboard bank of the river amongst the trees.

Two people dressed in all black uniforms were waiting there, seemingly ready to receive the yacht’s hawsers.

As the yacht drifted closer to the jetty, Hunter could make out that both people were black – a man and a woman.

Hunter’s heart sank at the sight of them.

How many more of these people were there?


	7. Home II

The yacht glided slowly along the jetty and Keisha handed the hawsers ashore for the newly-arrived man and woman to secure to bollards there.

When the hawsers were fixed, Hunter could hear the engine being turned off and felt the yacht come to a complete stop.

Keisha jumped ashore and greeted the man and the woman with a hand on her chest, a salute they both returned.

The woman, who was in her late twenties, wore long dreadlocks and was around 6’3. The man next to her was a little shorter and sported grey-colored cornrows and a matching beard. 

The two newcomers were both armed with assault rifles and had handguns secured to their thighs unlike Keisha, Kwame and Jamal whom Hunter had only seen carry knives.

Jamal emerged from the cockpit and went ashore as well, greeting the man and woman with a similar salute as Keisha had made.

“Brothers and sister Keisha. Welcome home. Did everything go according to plan?” the woman asked.

“It all went pretty smooth.” Jamal answered “The sedative Keisha chose took him out for about four hours so I think we might go with that from now on. It seems to be more reliable than the one we used on the last hunt.”

As Hunter, who was still on his knees on the yacht’s deck with Kwame standing close behind him, listened to their conversation a mixture of tension and anxiety filled him.

The last _hunt_? What were these people even talking about? 

Had they done this to someone else?

“This one is yours though, right?” the woman asked, nodding her head towards Hunter “from what Lisa told me it’s a personal thing…he’s not to be touched?”

“Yeah, he’s mine.” Keisha turned her head and gave Hunter a sinister glare, “I’ve got something special in mind for his ass. Your guys may still discipline him of course as long as it’s light stuff, but I will deal out whatever severe punishment is needed. Just tell them to report back to me when or if he gives them any attitude.”

The man and woman both nodded in concurrence.

“Alright, let’s ride.”

Keisha raised her hand in the air, signaling to Kwame.

With his hand around his prisoner’s upper arm, Kwame pulled Hunter to his feet as though he weighed nothing and led him ashore to join the others.

The group then walked into the dense forest in single file with the tall woman leading the way.

Kwame was dragging Hunter along after him, limping and stumbling over the uneven terrain, struggling to keep up with his abductor’s long strides.

Every step he took felt like red-hot needles were being poked into his bowels, but he still tried his best to suppress the pain and keep the grimacing to a minimum as he did not want to let Kwame know how much he had hurt him during the assault.

Although the beast may have caused him to question his own manliness, Hunter took comfort in knowing he still had an ounce of pride left. It felt as though he had been stripped of everything and that self-respect was the only thing he still possessed.

That, and of course a dire need for revenge.

Hunter’s eyes found the assault rifle hanging from the tall woman’s shoulder. He imagined snatching the rifle from her and blowing her brains out, then turning around and mowing down all the others and finishing off the massacre by emptying whatever rounds were left in Kwame’s body.

The scenario was of course deeply unrealistic as the woman was walking several yards ahead of him and Kwame still held his upper arm in a tight grip, but Hunter enjoyed his murder fantasy nevertheless.

Could he even remember how to switch the safety off on one of those things? It had been years since he last fired a gun and besides, he was not even sure he could take the woman out if he was one on one with her. She was bigger and clearly in better shape than him and he was definitely not a fighter nor had he ever been one.

In fact, all of Keisha’s people seemed to be in excellent physical shape, very different from the right-winged militia members Hunter had come across in his lifetime (a lot of which were his viewers and fans). Whatever bizarre group mentality held these people together involved a lot of discipline and working out that much was for certain.

After having walked for about ten minutes, a narrow dirt road appeared between the trees.

Two black SUVs were parked on the side of it.

Keisha and the woman got into the SUV parked at the front while Jamal and the man with the cornrows entered the one behind it.

Kwame dragged Hunter towards the SUV that Keisha had entered, went up to the tailgate and opened it.

Inside was a crate meant for a dog of similar size to a German Shepard.

Kwame opened the crate’s door and gave Hunter a shove in the back.

Hunter looked at the crate then up at Kwame.

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand what it was the man wanted him to do he just couldn’t accept it.

“Get in there!” Kwame sneered.

“I will not!” Hunter said matter-of-factly and sent Kwame a deadly stare.

They had abducted him, abused and tortured him and now they wanted to humiliate him further by placing him in a dog cage. _No fucking way._

Hunter might have been scared but he had had enough.

The hard punch to his gut came as expected.

Hunter moaned in pain and sank to his knees, clutching his stomach.

It took him a few seconds to do so, but when he finally had regained his breath he looked up at Kwame with resilience in his eyes.

“I said NO, you fucking ape!”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, a hand closed around his throat and he was pulled back up into a standing position.

Kwame’s eyes were furious, his teeth bared in a snarl.

“You little white bitch. I’m gonna have to hurt you now.” His voice was a low growl that made every hair on Hunter’s body stand up. 

Kwame’s other hand found Hunter’s throat then he started to slowly apply pressure, choking him.

Hunter gasped for air and struggled against him but Kwame was freakishly strong and he didn’t stand a chance against him.

Scared for his life, he tried desperately to apologize, to beg; whatever it would take for the man to stop choking him to death but he couldn’t form a single word let alone speak it.

His windpipe was being slowly crushed.

“Oh, _now_ you are sorry, aren’t you? _Now_ you regret it!”

While studying his victim’s face intently, Kwame continued to apply pressure on his gorge until his air supply was cut completely off and his eyelids fluttered shut.

Hunter’s consciousness had begun to ebb out when he heard Keisha’s voice far away.

“Baby! Quit playing around and get him in the car, please!”

Hunter felt the hold around his throat loosen, then he sank to the ground, gasping and coughing violently.

Before Hunter could catch his breath and gain his bearings, Kwame had grabbed him by the hair and forced his upper body into the cage.

He then seized Hunter’s belt and used it to lift his legs into the narrow space, pressing them in as though he was handling a piece of luggage and not a living, breathing human being. 

The moment all of Hunter’s limbs were inside the crate, Kwame slammed the door shut.

Despite the crate’s narrowness, Hunter managed to turn his body over and get up into a sitting position.

He looked out through the bars and met Kwame’s eyes that now had a spark of sadistic glee in them.

For a few seconds the two men stared each other down before the memory of what Kwame had done to him the previous night flooded Hunter’s mind and he felt like throwing up at the mere sight of his rapist.

“What’s the matter?” Kwame asked with fake concern as Hunter broke eye-contact.

When Hunter didn’t answer he hit the cage hard with his fist, making the man inside it instinctively flinch.

“You scared? You should be. We’ve only just begun playin’…” he leaned in so close to the cage that Hunter could feel his breath on his face “… _I’ve_ only just begun.”

Hunter could feel Kwame watching him but dared not meet his gaze. It seemed as though the man was looking for any excuse he could find to fling the cage open and attack him.

“Baby, come on! Let’s go!” Keisha impatient voice sounded from inside the SUV. Kwane grabbed the tailgate and closed it. Hunter heard him walk around the vehicle and get in. 

The engine started and the SUV began rolling down the bumpy road.


	8. Home III

The trunk’s windows were covered in black foil making it impossible to see outside.

Keisha’s people had also blocked the view to the front and backseat with a massive cover of some kind, leaving Hunter isolated in the dark.

From inside the SUV’s cabin he could hear muffled voices but he was not able to make out what they were saying.

Now that the tailgate was closed the air inside the trunk felt suffocating, and Hunter guessed that they must have turned off the AC in that part of the vehicle just to torture him.

Within a few minutes his clothes were soaked in sweat and he was panting for air.

His head hurt and he felt on the verge of dehydration. The bottle of water Keisha had given him the night before had hardly been enough to quench his thirst let alone uphold his fluid balance.

Trying his best to not think about cold water or air, Hunter slumped back against the crate’s bars and focused on the SUV’s movements instead.

They drove on for about ten minutes then the SUV went right, then left, then right two more times.

After five more minutes or so the car came to a halt and Hunter heard the doors open.

A few seconds later the tailgate opened as well and Hunter felt the sun in his face and slightly cooler air fill his lungs.

Keisha was standing in front of the crate, looking at him. For a second there was a small satisfied smile on her lips before her face turned neutral again.

She was clearly getting a kick out of seeing him in the pathetic state he was in, vulnerable and exhausted, dripping with sweat, hair tangled and clothes a mess; so very unlike his usual tidy self.

Keisha opened the door to the crate and stepped back a pace, allowing Hunter to climb out of it.

When he was free from the crate and standing up straight, Hunter looked past Keisha and saw they had parked the SUV in front of a very large mansion in Greek revival architectural style, surrounded by an equally large rose garden.

The scenery was strangely beautiful and peaceful - picturesque even like something out of a movie about the antebellum South and Hunter was slightly taken aback by the sight. Whoever owned the building and the land was clearly a person (or persons) of means.

Everything was neat, well kept and very high end, from the mansion’s two-storied façade to its wooden porch where Hunter imagined upperclass ladies in silk gowns had spent their afternoons sipping mint juleps and gossiping about their rich husbands in a century long since past.

Only now, patrolling the porch were no rich white women but a black man armed with an assault rifle.

Once his initial confusion had settled, Hunter turned his attention back to Keisha, meeting her gaze.

“What the hell is this place?” he asked and hoped his voice did not betray the growing nervousness he felt inside “why have you brought me here?”

Instead of answering him, Keisha sucked her teeth, reached out a hand and grabbed a lock of hair that had fallen into Hunter’s eyes between two fingers and began to twirl it lightly, feeling its texture.

Hunter flinched at the odd touch and was tempted to swat her hand away but on second thought dared not. Kwame and the woman with the dreadlocks were standing close by watching him with intense glares and knowing now what he did about Kwame, Hunter had no doubt that the psychopath would strangle him slowly if he as much as lifted his hand to his woman.

“I think we should give him a bath before we begin…he’s greasy as shit. Kwame, will you take him upstairs and make sure he gets one? And meet us in the lounge in thirty or so?”

Keisha swept the lock of hair away from Hunter’s forehead then wiped her fingers off on her pants. “I do like my boys nice and clean.” 

Hunter felt strong fingers close around his arm then a violent yank as Kwame started pulling him towards the mansion's front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is inspired by several short stories and novels, one of which is "Forty Acres" by Dwayne Alexander Smith.


End file.
